


Is this what you think of me, Lieutenant

by heizl



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Humor, One Shot, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), SpongeBob SquarePants References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: With too much time on Connor's hands from, a much needed, leave (requested by Hank himself), Connor finds himself trying to fill his empty time with things to do. Things to distract himself with. While browsing through movies one night, he finds something Hank had been hiding from him. Curiosity killed the Android, they said.Also, Connor can't deal with his emotions, but what's new.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 102





	Is this what you think of me, Lieutenant

Connor opened his eyes, staring down the cottage cheese finish of the otherwise dull ceiling, like he was challenging it to a duel. Which was silly, because it was an inanimate object, and maybe he'd made himself chuckle a little at the thought— a face-off with a _wall_ . But he was still a bit disorientated, and _frustrated_ he could never stay asleep long enough. Sure, he could saunter back to his room. Maybe dive under a few blankets, focus on the weight around him. Sometimes that helped. But usually, it didn't.

It was dark out, but the kind that looked like early morning, because it was hazy and the sky was clearer. A faint neon flashed '3:42 AM'. At least it wasn't night anymore. The only sound accompanying the soft snores within their apartment was the pitter patter of rain against glass. God _damnit_. He feigned a groan and rolled onto his side, face pillowing against the plush of the couch. His fingers curled against the fabric.

He just wanted _distraction_. Something to hold him over when he was truly alone with himself. When Hank desperately needed his sleep and he couldn't go pestering him for attention. Maybe he needed more friends, but then again, he wasn't sure if he'd want to be friends with the sort of crowd that stayed up until the wee hours of dawn.

Hank's sleep hygiene was borderline atrocious, and yeah, worrisome when he'd oftentimes hop in the car and speed down a street with two hours of sleep under his belt. Connor couldn't strap himself in tight _enough_ . But it wasn't his place, to ask about it, or offer him a warm cup of chamomile tea, or sneak into his room and jump on the bed to cure his own loneliness. He'd learned that the hard way, oh _yes_ he did. Though it's not like he could _feel_ the physical sensation of pain, he didn't know pillows could dislocate jaws like that.

So yeah, it sucked not being able to sleep much. At least when your mind was always running. He had a lot of time to think now, to… process the world around him. To _remember_ . He had blood on his hands, red _and_ blue, and faces he'd never forget. Couldn't even if he tried, even if he'd override the memories, gave them new temporary housing and shoved the folders away. There were things that haunted him, feelings that were so genuine and debilitating, he'd find himself uselessly slumped against a wall sometimes. 'course he'd never talk about it, to Hank, or _anyone_ , but it did happen.

Everything was new to Connor, really. He'd never lived somewhere before. Never had a place he could call home. Never had to adapt to a normal sleeping routine, per say. All he'd known was the lifeless gray of boxes and holding units. He'd never had a room he could call his own and decorate with posters and things he'd liked. And even though Hank and him lived in a bigger place now, somewhere with two rooms and a less cramped living space, he still found more comfort on the couch. It was the television. Hank said he could get one for himself, but Connor didn't see the point in having _two_.

He just liked the sound of people talking. It was like what others found in music. Sometimes he found music too overwhelming, hard to focus on lyrics over boisterous guitars and keyboards. Maybe it was just the kind Hank listened to. Connor still needed to experiment with music; he kept that on his checklist, inside the little notepad he hauled with him everywhere. Mental checklists came at the snap of a finger, but there was something he liked about the physical reminder. Something grounding and personal. _Human_.

Sometimes he'd get lucky and wake up to an anxiously huffing Sumo, wanting to go outside. He wasn't particularly _fond_ of midnight walks in Detroit, no one was. But it was something to do. He'd fix him a bowl of kibble, refill his water, stare inside the fridge and read the label off every can of beer Hank owned. 

Tonight though, he wasn't prancing. And Connor reluctantly swung his legs to dangle off the couch, his feet touching the floor. He walked slow. At least they had carpet now, but the dumbest things could stir Hank awake. Sumo wasn't in his bed, so Connor knew where he must've been. 

He peeked into Hanks room; he was sprawled out on his back, an arm over his forehead, Sumo tucked against his side. His big head was resting on Hank's chest, and some of his bedding was thrown about. He felt his lips twitch. 

Now he found himself retracing his steps. Something to do. He'd taken a liking to games, he found. Not the video kind, because he lost interest pretty quick with… virtual things. But, actual board games, or cards, sometimes a word puzzle or two. Sure, they weren't always _ideal_ to play alone. A lot of games required a second person, but he managed. More so just got him to think, think about anything other than fear filled eyes. The bodies they'd find tossed down sewage systems. And, if he was really lucky, he could bore himself enough that all he _craved_ was to shut off and enjoy the escapism.

When they moved from Hank's old home, there wasn't a whole lot that Hank wanted to bring with him. The obvious; some more expensive electronics and vinyls he enjoyed. His (questionable) clothes, Sumo's overflowing box of toys. That was another exciting thing, that Hank let Connor pick out the furniture they got. Or, the style, at least. It reminded him of scenes he'd seen in movies, when a dad would spend 'bonding' time with his kid before they were off to college.

Hank didn't have a lot of things, in general. And most of what he did have, in terms of collectibles, filled up a single shelf. A tall wooden bookcase they kept near the television. DVDs were outdated, not many manufacturers kept up the production of them since digital took over the world. But Hank still enjoyed them. Hell, ninety eight percent of their movie collection was on disc. Same couldn't be said for vinyl though, because that was _retro_ and _cool._ Having a DVD player, not even one that had Blu-ray, just made Hank seem like an old man. Well, _older_ than he already seemed.

Nonetheless, that was something Connor found himself doing a lot too. If he got tired of the soap operas and drama on cable, he popped in a movie. Hank had introduced him to a few of his personal favorite classics; " _RoboCop. I'm sure you'll_ love _this_ ," Hank said, and at first Connor thought he was being sincere. It was easier for him to understand Hank's sarcasm now.

The player they had was massively faulty, and discs usually skipped. Connor asked over and over again _why_ he didn't want to get a new one. They were only cheap, but Hank always shrugged it off, asking what was wrong with it. 

So like he normally did, he gently closed Hank's door, flicked on the tv, and lowered the sound. Sometimes he messed with the brightness too, but it wasn't going to be one of those nights, he thought. He pensively flicked through the cases. Black and white films, some doctor drama shows, and then what caught his eye; tucked away _behind_ a row was an unmarked case with a white piece of paper as a sleeve. He cocked his head.

Opening it wasn't any help either, because all there was, was a silver disc. No engraved markings, and the sharpie that once used to be there was mostly smudged off. He liked feeling curious, because he enjoyed learning new things. Even tidbits from gum wrappers of meaningless trivia he'd never need to use. He enjoyed the discovery that came with the process.

He plopped the disc in and settled back on the couch, blanket pulled over his shoulders like a cape. Immediately, the screen cut into a loud, crudely colorful opening without any disc menu selections. It actually started him a bit and he scrambled for the controller, cranking down the volume even more. Maybe it was illegally ripped? Made sense why it'd be unmarked. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder again, towards Hank's room.

He crossed his legs. Once the title sequence was over, he ascended into an underwater world. A quick scan brought up that the series was created in the late nineties, went on until the late twenty tens, when the show finally ran its last season. Connor found himself more immersed in scrolling through IMDB pages, reading dumb fun facts and—

He nearly choked on his own breath. What the fuck, _no way_ . His brows raised nearly to his hairline and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. It was even funnier to him the secrecy of his discovery; he was alone, he knew that, but only _he_ could see what was displayed on the page right before his eyes. A young Hank with his brunet hair pulled back in a bun (he never knew he'd had his hair _so_ long), and smile a lot brighter than the one he held now. He was listed in the credits for this… child's cartoon about talking aquatic animals. 

With another blink, he focused back on the show. A crab waltzed his way through a grimy looking restaurant, badgering on about money this, and money that. Connor at that point _had_ to bite onto something. Blanket was covered in thick dog hair, and that was not a pleasant feeling in his mouth, but oh hell, he would've woken him up with the cackles that shook his whole body.

Before he knew it, the sun was casting orange against their white walls, and Sumo was clawing against Hank's door. Connor quickly jumped up and let him out. He made him his breakfast, sat on the floor and brushed him for awhile longer, and then found himself back in his same spot on the couch with a friend on his lap now.

He didn't know what he found more amusing; that Hank was this high and powerful lieutenant, with medals and badges of honor to his name, published in countless articles with titles along the line of 'Detroit's fearless beat cop' and he played a prominent role on some wacky kids show. Or how this _SpongeBob_ show itself portrayed robots. Sure, it was before Connor's time. Back when the most advanced piece of robotic engineering was a Roomba. But— robots don't cry, robots don't laugh, robots don't feel _emotion._ _That_ was amusing. Presumptuous of them.

It also made him chuckle at the thought that probably none of his buddies at work knew about this. They probably wouldn't, still. He probably, surely wouldn't talk about this, to everyone, and anyone. 

Connor's ears perked. A door creaked open, and he could hear heavy footsteps, fading opposite direction down the hall. Sumo flew from the couch and went shuffling after him, his collar jingling, with a few excited barks (and many " _Hello, yes, yes_ " in replies). A few minutes later, a sink was running, and then he walked past Connor, ruffling his hair, with a yawn. "Mornin'."

"Morning," Connor said back, peering up at him. He looked disheveled, like he usually _always_ did first thing in the mornings. But then Hank stopped midway through the open doorway to the kitchen. 

"Jesus, what the hell are you watching?" His words were a bit slurred. He rubbed at his eyes.

Connor held the blank DVD case, pinched between two fingers. Hank let out a truly deep, throaty, _desperate_ groan as he headed into the kitchen. "Oh, hell, it's too early for this."

Connor paused the show, following after him. He still had the habit of being his little shadow, or, _poodle_ as Hank called him (even though Connor said his favorite dog breed were Great Danes, repeatedly). He leaned against the kitchen counter with crossed arms, watching Hank heat up a pot of water.

"I didn't know you were such a fan of cartoons."

"I'm _not_ ." Connor quirked a brow, and Hank waved him off. " _Don't_ give me that look, Connor."

"Is this really what you think of Androids, Hank?"

"What? Hey, did you already feed him?" Hank bent down, scratching under Sumo's chin.

Connor nodded, softly muttering, "Beep. Beep boop boop beep."

Now it was Hank's turn to give him a shared amused expression. "You're telling me you don't sound exactly like that?"

"I try to not speak my native tongue around you."

He went to grab a mug and dump a spoonful of instant mix in it, pouring in the water after. He looked thoughtful, at least for a split second, scratching the back of his head as he got the breath of "Wha—" off his lips, but then Connor continued. 

"That crab. Uh, the money hungry one."

"Yeah, I know what _crab,_ Connor."

Hank walked back into the other room, Connor following him like his life depended on it. He shoved Connor's blanket over and sat down, kicking his feet up on the table. He grabbed the remote and switched to the local news. 

Connor settled beside him. "So…"

He sighed, like a genuine sigh he'd only heard a handful of times before when Connor _really_ got on his nerves. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, before taking a long sip from his cup. "What do you want to know?"

"That was you," he said pointedly.

"Yeah, it was. How'd you even—" he was about to ask, but he shook his head, stretching an arm across the top of the cushions. "You scanned me, huh?"

"I mean, the show. I didn't even know what it was, the DVD had nothing on it."

"'cause they gave that thing to me before they ever aired it."

Connor couldn't stop staring at him, and he could tell Hank didn't like it. He _'_ d _told_ him he didn't like when he stared, not intently at least. And he _definitely_ hated when he didn't blink for at least ten minutes. But now Hank was worrying his bottom lip, his right eye twitching, brows wiggling around. 

"Can we change the subject now?"

"But," Connor tried his best to suppress his laughter, again. " _Why_?"

"Because," he vaguely gestured towards him, "that's why. Now you're laughing at me."

"No, I mean, why would you want to be a— or, how—"

" _Listen_ . I was a broke ass college student, barely had enough cash for rent. A friend of a friend said he could maybe hook me up with something that would hold me over for awhile. I didn't think _that's_ what he was talking about."

Connor's look had gone blank. Rather, he was trying to keep together his composure. He could see yellow reflecting in the whites of Hank's eyes. Until he couldn't anymore. He cracked, snorting and chuckling, and maybe even drooling, he was laughing so damn hard. All Hank could do was pull his lips up in a disgusted manner and roll his eyes with an indigent huff.

"Yeah, _ha ha_ , very funny. Laugh it up. Those royalty fees paid for the couch you're sitting on."

"I just…"

" _What_?" He said with a clenched jaw. Connor carefully pushed himself up, trying to regain his composure. He backed up a little, rounding to the other side of the table. And then in the most robotic fashion (that he could muster), he swung his left arm, right following. Hank's mouth hung open. "What the…"

"Is this," he harshly moved his positioning, "what you," he spun on his heels, "think," with a twist of his arm "of," then bent his knee " _me_."

Hank looked away, like he was ducking his head in _embarrassment_ . "Yeah, I'm _ready_ to go back to work. I need an escape from this shit."

* * *

It'd been a month since they'd been at the station. Well, no, let's rephrase that: it'd been a month since their desks had been touched for more than five minutes, didn't have a thin coating of dust on them. Since their last assigned case, since they requested time off to get their shit back together. Adjust to life. So Connor could gather his thoughts, because an Android detective that's having panic attacks every nine minutes isn't a very _useful_ one. Normally Fowler wouldn't give _anyone_ a month off, unless it was urgent. Or maternity leave. And neither of them were pregnant, but he still made the exception.

It was their first day back, and Connor could tell Hank knew he was nervous. He stalled getting dressed, acting like he couldn't find his badge (which Hank picked up from Connor's pillow with a sneer). He was being twitchier than usual too. Tugging at the cuff of his sleeve to the point of fabric tearing, blinking maybe _too_ many times in a row. And in the rearview mirror, he caught his receptor flickering; still that usual light blue, but the pulsating effect was… new.

"Where to today, Hank? The usual?" Connor asked, trying to relax himself, in any way he could. He leaned against the window pane, but it just wasn't comfortable.

"Nope. Shaking things up a little."

"Look at you. And here I was, thinking you were a creature of habit."

"Are you calling me a creature, Connor?"

"Perhaps."

"You're the one to speak," he muttered under his breath.

This was their usual routine. Pick something up, not early in the morning though. Sometimes late afternoon, or for dinner. Hank didn't eat breakfast— one of the first things he'd learned about Hank after meeting him. Of course he'd argue, saying ' _coffee is breakfast_ ' with a gruff chuckle he could _hear_ , haunted his thoughts.

They didn't keep a lot at home. Connor didn't eat, not normal human food, anyways. And Hank didn't have the patience for cooking. When they were working, it wasn't like they had much spare time anyways. When they _were_ hot on a trail, that's when Connor almost craved sleep. 

Hank was driving lazily, his hand just dangling on the steering wheel. He could tell he was still groggy, with the bags he wore under his eyes. There'd never be enough coffee in the world to wake up Hank. 

Connor started tapping his fingers against the console. Hank's jaw tightened. His tapping grew louder, more persistent, scratching against the worn leather. 

They hit a red light and Hank threw his head back, side eyeing Connor. They hadn't caught any traffic yet, thankfully.

"Jesus, Connor, seriously? Just put some music on."

"Sure," he said quietly with a hesitant nod. He clicked on the radio, twisting the dials that got stuck more often than not. He scanned through channels at a headache inducing speed, most things coming back only as a jarring static. Always picking up the distant Canadian stations. But then, something finally poked through, and so Connor settled on it. **Mama Said Knock You Out** by Finger Finger Death Punch, released 2013.

Connor went to change the station again, but Hank lifted a hand. "Hey hey, _leave_ it."

Connor leaned his chin against his palm. His foot was tapping, much quieter under the music, but he couldn't sit _still_. He watched as trees passed by in green blurs. Stared at deconstructed houses, Android only living spaces being erected, a few wild food trucks. 

More so to himself, he said under his breath, "it's not beep boop beep, it's _beep boop boop beep boop_."

"Oh Christ."

* * *

This wasn't like Hank's usual at all— it was too hipster-esque, even for Connor's taste. And he wasn't sure he even grasped what 'hipster' meant. The cafe was small and quaint, hip. With faux red brick walls and minimalist paintings hung up in ornate gold frames. There were wooden shelves filled with obviously fake plants. 

You know, Hank wasn't always a fan of typical breakfast food; he was the kind of guy that'd go for leftover pizza in the morning and a stack of pancakes at midnight. But, today was different.

"Is there a reason you brought us here?" Connor asked with a scrunch of his nose. 

"Yeah," he said without much care. "Wanted a bagel."

"Can't you make bagels at home?*

"There's an egg on it."

"...can't you make eggs at—"

"Don't have any."

"I told you before, I don't mind getting groceries."

"But who's gonna cook then, Connor? Not fucking me." 

"I could always use a new hobby."

" _You_ want to cook," he said pointedly.

Connor shrugged. "Why not?"

"You don't eat."

"Doesn't mean I can't taste."

"I dunno…" he grabbed his order, waving his thanks and started walking over to an empty table near a window. He sat down, Connor pulling out the chair across from him. 

"Are you nervous?"

He looked at him, pulling back the wax paper wrapping. "About today?"

"Going back in general."

"Not really. I know _you_ are."

Connor looked around, stroking a hand through his hair. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Subtlety isn't your strong suit, kiddo. Nah, don't be. You know they got those anti Android discrimination policies up now."

"It's not… I know there're gonna always be people who hate me just because I'm me. That's not what scares me."

"Then? Connor, I'm sorry about— I didn't know you were having a panic attack, okay."

"No, it's— not," Connor actually flinched, and he felt his hands tense. His chest got tight, and his eyes were back to bouncing, an escape route calculating without him even processing the thought. He didn't want to run away. But, there were still things he hadn't accepted, since the last time they'd played buddy cop. The sort of things that made him restless at night, that _drove him_ to watch Spongebob for five hours straight.

Hank was studying him again, closely. His forehead had deep creases, and he was wiping his mouth with a napkin, waiting for Connor's response. Reaction? He wasn't quite sure.

The last big case they'd had together, Hank had _lost_ it. A murder-suicide in the outskirts of Auburn Hills. Their leads had been cold for days at that point, but Connor _insisted_ he was onto something. Pulled Hank out of bed, and before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the goddamn woods in a bathrobe and boots.

He'd gotten a memory. Clue? Dream? Whatever it was, Connor had seen something he hadn't noticed before. Imagine that, even an Android missing a key piece of obvious evidence. He wasn't perfect, never thought he _was_. And it became harder to focus, with his train of thought always chugging through. Never stopping.

There were footsteps. Connor had seen this, in his memories. Dark soil, damp from a lake, surrounded by pine. Away from the city. Hank was freezing, and the flashlight they had kept flickering. 

Hank kept complaining, didn't know why this couldn't wait a couple more hours. But Connor _knew_ it couldn't. He'd felt it then too, how his hands trembled. His eyes growing moist. Breaths shallow. He was scared, because he felt like he'd failed. He should've been able to crack the case by then, but they'd returned to base each day empty handed.

Lazy. Incapable. Incompetent. His pace left Hank panting as he tried to keep up. And then, finally, he'd grabbed Connor's shoulder. Everything _felt_ fuzzy. The weight of Hank on him was overbearing, his vision was clouded. Hank was fed up with his shit, and Connor didn't blame him. He hadn't even told him _why_ they were out there, what his vision had been. Just told him they needed to go.

He snapped at him. Connor really didn't like being yelled at. Hank joked with him, pushed his buttons. They both got on each other's nerves. But this was anger. 

Sometimes Connor would think of— bodies lying there, lifeless, blood coating their pale limbs. Always at the wrong moment. 

Connor never knew he was capable of crying.

Hank didn't know what'd happened at first. Why Connor started to _run_ from him. Hank had found him curled against a tree, fetal position, unblinking. He'd brought him home, wrapped him in blankets (and that's how he learned to love the weight they brought), and entered protective dad mode.

"It wasn't your fault. I just, sometimes," Connor looked down, stroking his palms across his legs. "I question if I'll be able to make the right decision."

Hank hung his head, a sympathetic chuckle leaving his breath. " _Oh_ , Connor," he kicked him under the table, gently. "Son, I hate to break it to you, but that's what being human is all about."

"Sometimes it was easier just being a machine."

He quirked a brow. " _Was_ it?"

"No. No, it… it wasn't. It was horrible. Always wanting to say something, but you _can't_."

"Hm," Hank thought as he bit into his bagel.

"Though if I was just a machine, all I'd have to say was beep boop boop beep." Connor side eyed him, a smug grin plastered on his face as Hank stopped mid bite, lowering his bagel. 

* * *

"Hank, Connor!" Fowler peaked his head out from his office. They'd stepped not three feet into the station and all eyes were already glued to the pair. "Glad to have you back, boys."

"Well, it's good to _be_ back," Hank said with another abrupt yawn.

"Yeah, sure. Come talk to me after you're situated," he said, shutting his door.

Connor's fingers flexed, and he started rocking on the balls of his feet. Everything seemed so _bright_ , so loud— Hank threw his arm over his shoulder, bee lining to their desks.

"Relax. Deep breaths, Con. You're the one in control. You got this."

"Do I?" he said, quietly.

Hank sucked in his lips, chuckling. "You do. That's an _order_."

"I don't take _orders_ anymore, Lieutenant."

"Not like you ever listened to me even when you did."

"Now, that's the truth." Connor rounded to his desk. Exactly how he remembered leaving it— maybe more dust, but nothing else had changed. Someone had clearly been watering his succulent for him. 

"Wonder what it'll be today," Hank grumbled, slipping out of his jacket before gesturing his head. _Breathe_. They paced back to his office, Hank knocking before he waved them in.

"Both of you, have a seat."

"Thank you, Captain," Connor said.

"We really are glad to have you back, you know. Keep this between us, but this place has been a mess without you two."

"Of course it has. Between Gavin and…" Hank trailed off. He followed where he was looking; Reeds was loitering around, his partner laughing at something he'd said. They'd still never come up with an official name for him— Connor only ever called him by his model make, not that he seemed to mind.

Fowler cleared his throat. Connor's eyes bounced between the two men.

"Sorry, we just got this call about an hour ago, so we haven't had the time to log the case in our system yet," he slid them a Manila folder, a paper clip sticking out. "Missing persons report. Little girl went missing at seven o'clock last night, her parents haven't gotten word of her since. Got a photo of the girl, and a shitty CCTV still. Good luck." 

Hank scratched his head. "Better than nothing, I guess."

Connor nodded, following Hank's lead as he stood. About to leave, fingers gripped around the doors handle, Fowler spoke again. "You doing okay, Connor?"

He looked over his shoulder. "In relativity to," he waved his hand.

"Before."

He looked away, blinking. "I believe so."

"Okay. Well, just know, there's help if you need it. And take this for what you will— as annoying as Anderson can be, he only means well. He really cares for you, y'know."

Connor felt himself smiling. "I know." 

He headed back towards Hank. He was standing back at his desk, scrolling down his phone. But as he approached him, his eyes darted up, phone shoved into his pocket. 

He dropped the file on his table. Seeing a photo of the girl, printed out, and what seemed to be from her first grade graduation— it was personal. Brought back that feeling he held about written notes. 

He looked over Hank's shoulder, observing the photograph closely. Her long blonde locks were slicked back in a neat ponytail, crooked teeth flashing a pearly smile. Connor, in a whisper, nonchalantly husked, "beep beep."

Hank grabbed a fist full of his tie, his cheeks puffed. He looked Connor dead in the eyes. 

"Not another fucking word outta you, you hear me?"

"Yes, _lieutenant_." Connor made a zipper motion across his lips, throwing away the key. Hank held his stare. But his lips twitched at the corners. He let him go with a roll of his eyes.

"You're full of shit."

**Author's Note:**

> Connor, me boyo! Argh argh argh argh


End file.
